


small town witch (come to mess me up)

by bookstvnerdlove



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/bookstvnerdlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bethyl smut. no plot, just smut.</p><p>oral fixations, cigarettes, leather and lace</p>
            </blockquote>





	small town witch (come to mess me up)

She's lying back against the pillows, hair mussed from his fingers tunneling into the golden strands. Her lips swollen from him, from him fucking her mouth, his hips thrusting while his hands held her still as one of her hands snaked down her body until her fingers were dipping inside the lacy bottoms that she's wearing. Her hair is wrecked and her eyes are glazed over. Lust drunk he always calls it. “You look lust drunk, girl,” he likes to say to her as she curls her body into his afterwards. “ 

You look lust drunk, girl,” he says now as she as she leans over to grab a shirt to make the chilly walk to his bathroom in relative modesty.

Her skin is flushed red and this time doesn't grab his shirt the same as usual. No, this time she grabs his leather vest and, slipping her arms into the heavy material, tosses him a glance over her shoulder. He likes it when she wears his shirts, the way they swallow her small frame, the material skimming the tops of her thighs. He likes the way they give him something to hold onto later as he pulls her towards his body until they tumble back onto the bed, her straddling him, their bodies aligned as he slips inside her and brings her over the edge again (and again and again).

The vest is a new move, though, on her part. It's been a the one constant in his life since all this shit began, the material already worn in, broken down, tattered but still standing. Much like him, she likes to say sometimes as she softly traces the stitching on the back, her fingers gliding over fabric, making him think about the way they glide along his cock, slowly, reverently, as if his body is something precious to her.

She's treated it with reverence before, carefully hanging it on the back of his chair, folding it after she slides it off his body. But not today, today she pressed him against the door as soon as it clicked shut behind them and captured his lips with hers, pulling at his bottom lip with her teeth, nips and tugs and just that hint of pain that she knows he likes. Their clothes left strewn across the room, the sheets already tangled on his bed from the night before.

While he waits, he leans over to the small stand next to his bed and grabs a cigarette from his stash. He knows that she doesn’t love it when he smokes, but times like this, when he’s stripped completely bare, when she doesn’t let him hide his scars, his skin starts feeling itchy and it’s the only thing that calms him. Besides, she must not mind too much because she’s stopped saying things like, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Instead she stares at him with her eyes wide as she bites down on her bottom lip, worrying the skin as she eyes the way his mouth wraps around the stupid thing. He pulls in harshly, a fire burning in his lungs as she steps back into the room. It makes him feel like he’s corrupting her and part of him likes that even though he knows that it is the other way around. She makes him better, makes him want things, makes him want everything. Still, he likes the way her eyes widen and the way that she licks her lips so quickly. Likes the bite-marks that remain long after they’ve finished, hers and his together, and he likes that it starts with something so simple as the way his lips close around the cigarette and the way that she bites her lip.

He pulls at the vest as he drags her towards him. She pulls the cigarette from his lips, barely smoked and wasted, but he doesn’t even care because her lips find his and his crush hers as he tightens his grip on the leather until she falls onto him, straddling on the bed. She moves her hand to grip him, but he pushes her hand away and flips their bodies until she’s on her back, vest still on, and he strokes her through the lace of her panties.

They’re wet from her earlier orgasm and he can smell the sex on her – on them – as she tosses her head to the side, into the pillow, muffling her gasps. He leans down and nuzzles his face into her, drinking it in, as he nips at her through the lace. His teeth pull at the fabric, but don’t tear because such delicate fabric is precious in this world, and he loves the way it looks on her. He hooks his fingers through the fabric and brushes against her, feeling her smooth skin, his favorite silky place to touch her. 

Her hips rise up to meet his fingers and he brushes – back and forth, back and forth – until she moans his name and then, “Your mouth. Oh god, your mouth.”

His lips latch onto her clit as he tastes her – her desire, how much she wants him, _needs_ him, begs for him. He tastes it all as she undulates against his mouth, riding his mouth, her skin flushed and her breath gasping until she screams his name into the sheets.


End file.
